


The Hurricane

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 08:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: The reader is stuck somewhere with a hurricane fast approaching. Steve races to where she is to save her.





	The Hurricane

 

“Steve you can  _ not _  fly in this!” Sam yelled, his hand on Steve’s arm.

The wind was whipping around them, Steve’s hair flopping over his forehead, his jacket nearly torn off by the force of it. Sam was holding the railing next to the quinjet, trying to keep his feet beneath him even as the gale force winds rocked him from side to side.

“I have to, Sam!” he replied. “The Raft is right in the path of the hurricane! If I don’t go, she could die! I’m not letting that happen. She’s in there because of me.”

“They won’t let that happen,” Sam shook his head.

“But they will,” Steve said. “You heard what Nat said, they’re evacuating, moving her, but it’s dangerous, unsafe, unpredictable because of the hurricane. This is my chance to get Y/N out of there.”

“At least let me go with you, help you,” Sam insisted.

“You don’t have to.” Steve hit the button, opening the door on the quinjet, striding purposefully up the ramp, Sam directly behind him. “I can do this by myself.” He slipped into the pilot seat, expertly hitting buttons, activating the jet’s operating systems.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to,” Sam argued, dropping into the seat directly behind Steve, arms crossed, a determined, stubborn look on his face.

They were silent, each of them lost in their own thoughts as the jet rose into the escalating storm, Steve did his best to concentrate on flying, on making adjustments as necessary, not the fact that Y/N was trapped on a floating prison in the path of a hurricane. And it was his fault. He had to get to her before she got hurt.

* * *

The Raft rocked - scratch that - it tilted, one side of it coming up almost perpendicular to its previous position, knocking you on your ass, your head slamming into the metal bench that also served as your bed. You struggled to your feet, the floor rolling beneath you, your gorge rising. You stumbled across the nine by nine space, dropping to your knees in front of the toilet, the water you’d forced yourself to drink earlier vacating your stomach. The Raft rocked again, the floor rolling, sending you to your ass and then you slid, your hands scrambling for purchase on the cold, metal floor, coming to a hard stop against the cell door.

It had been like this for a couple of hours, the constant rocking, getting worse with every minute that passed. You hadn’t seen anyone in an hour, maybe longer - not a guard, not the guy with the big hands and tiny thumbs who chatted you up, trying to get you to talk; not the quiet, mousy guy who woke you up every hour on the hour, not the lady guard who took you for a shower every other day; and not the little guy that worked in the kitchen and brought you food twice a day. It was like a ghost town. You knew they were still out there, you could hear their muffled shouting, hear the sounds of an evacuation. But no one had come for you. 

For the third or fourth time, you pounded on your cell door, screaming for someone, anyone, to come and let you out. There was no answer. You looked around, but you couldn’t see much, only the other cells, empty, as they had been since you’d arrived. You were the only prisoner on The Raft, had been for weeks, ever since they’d captured you outside of London, on your way to Wakanda. Secretary Ross had sworn he’d let you go, but it had quickly become clear that you would remain a prisoner until you told them where to find Steve. But you weren’t going to tell them. You’d rot in this damn prison before you’d tell them where he was.

The Raft rocked again, sending you back to the floor. You could hear the wind roaring outside, screaming, and you could just imagine what it was like out there, the rain, the wind, the insanity of the hurricane. You crawled across your cell, shoved yourself into the corner, pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapped your arms around them and for the first time ever, you prayed.

* * *

The quinjet fell, dropping a hundred feet, maybe more, as Steve fought to get it under control, the wind buffeting it at over one hundred miles an hour. His knuckles were white, his grip on the controls tight as he struggled to keep the jet in the air. He made some adjustments, trying to account for wind speed and weather, a neat trick considering he was flying in a category four - headed for category five - hurricane.

“Steve, we aren’t going to make it,” Sam yelled. “We need to turn back.”

“No!” Steve growled. “I got this.”

The jet dropped again, plummeting toward the open sea. Sam let out a strangled sound, something that sounded a lot like ‘holy shit.’

“Language.” Steve let out the breath he’d been holding as the Raft came into sight. He punched some buttons on the control panel, easing the jet into the open pit in the middle, trying to land it without crashing into the wall.

The quinjet hit the landing pad with a thud, sliding ten feet to the left on the slick pavement, one tire hanging over the edge, the tires squealing on the concrete as it slid toward the edge. He had unbuckled his seatbelt and popped open the door before the engine had even wound down and stopped. He slid down the ramp, coming to a stop at the door, Sam behind him. Steve peered through the window, ducking when he saw a guard hurrying past. He waited, silently counting to five before he wrenched open the door, the metal bending easily beneath his hand. Steve grabbed the guard coming at him from the left, putting him in a headlock, slamming his head into the wall, knocking him out cold. Without turning, he swung around, a roundhouse kick hitting the second guard and sending him to the floor beside the other guard.

“Put them in the quinjet,” Steve ordered. “In the cargo hold. And make sure it’s locked tight.

Sam did as instructed, hurriedly making his way back to Steve, the two of them working their way through the Raft, taking out guards as they went, carrying them back to the quinjet and locking them in the cargo hold. 

It didn’t take long to get to the center of the Raft, where the cells were located. The last two guards were easily taken out, and while Sam took them to the quinjet, Steve began checking cells.

“Y/N?” he shouted. “Y/N?”

He finally saw her, on the far side of the huge room, in a cell he had not checked, her head rising above the lower edge of the cell walls as she peered out. He strode across the room, ducking his head to look inside, a smile breaking across his face when the made eye contact with her.

“Steve? Is that really you?” she murmured. “Please God, let it be you.”

“It’s me, doll,” he replied. “You okay?” Tears were streaming down her face, she was pale, too thin, and there were bruises on her arms. The thought of how she might have gotten those bruises made him see red, though he couldn’t think about that right now. He wrenched open the heavy metal door and tossed it aside.

Y/N fell into his arms, sobbing. He gathered her close, hugging her to his chest, peppering her face with kisses. “I’ve been worried sick about you,” he breathed.

“I’m f-fine,” she stammered. “N-now that you’re h-here.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve said. He wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her from the room.

They saw Sam as soon as they came around the corner, running toward them. He slid to a stop. “Thank God. Cap, we gotta go. All the guards are on the jet, but the storm, it’s getting worse. If we don’t get out of here now, we aren’t getting out at all.”

* * *

You weren’t sure how you were still standing. Your head was spinning and pounding all at once, every inch of your body ached, and all you could think about was closing your eyes and sleeping for a year. You were clinging to Steve, doing your best to stay upright.

As soon as Sam said you needed to get off the Raft immediately, Steve scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder, his arm around your legs, holding you tight. He sprinted through the Raft, the quinjet coming into view after just a few seconds. Once you were inside, Steve eased you into a chair, kissed your cheek, and slipped into the pilot’s seat.

While Steve prepared the jet for takeoff, Sam helped you strap yourself into the seat. He crouched down in front of you, staring into your eyes.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I don’t feel so good,” you whispered. “But don’t tell Steve, he’ll worry.”

“He’s already worried, Y/N,” Sam smiled. “So am I. Unfortunately, right now we have to worry about getting out of here. As soon as we’re out of the storm, we’ll give you a more thorough once over. But promise me that if you feel like you’re gonna lose it, you have to say something. Promise?”

“I promise,” you sighed. You laid your head back against the seat and closed your eyes.

The quinjet rose slowly out of the Raft, rocking from side to side in the wind and rain. The night sky lit up for a second and what followed sounded a lot like the end of the world. You squeezed your eyes closed tighter, you fingers digging into the leather seat as you held on, whimpering as the jet was tossed from side to side and a maelstrom tried to suck the quinjet underwater.

Once the tossing and churning of the jet seemed to ease up a bit, you opened your eyes. There was nothing to see, just black skies and rain pummeling the jet. Steve shot a glance over his shoulder and smiled at you. You returned the smile, holding back the grimace of pain you felt. You closed your eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

“I got you, doll,” Steve murmured in your ear. You felt yourself being lifted and held tight against a broad muscular chest. You snuggled closer, your fingers twisting in his jacket, your face pressed against the side of his neck. His familiar scent filled your head as his strong hands held you close.

A few minutes later you were lowered onto something soft and warm blankets covered you. You heard Steve furiously whispering with someone, then the click of a door closing and someone moving around the room. The bed dipped, then you were pulled into a strong embrace.

“Where are we?” you murmured.

“Someplace safe,” Steve replied, brushing strands of hair away from your face. “Somewhere that no one will ever find. Sam’s gone to talk to the doctor. See if we can’t get you fixed up.” He cupped your cheek in his hand, brushed a kiss across your lips. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“You never would have been in there -”

“If it wasn’t for you, I know, Steve,” you said. “But if it wasn’t for you, I might be dead. You rescued me and now we’re together. That’s what matters. Hindsight is always 20/20. Would’ve, should’ve, could’ve. I just want to put it behind me, forget it even happened. That means you have to do the same. Can you do that for me? Please?”

He nodded, though the look in his eye told you he would dwell on it for a long time to come, the guilt eating at him. You snuggled closer, pushing a knee between his legs and wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I want to sleep for a year,” you muttered, your cheek resting on his chest, eyes slipping closed.

Steve chuckled and pulled the blankets up higher, covering you both. “Sleep as long as you want, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

 


End file.
